Gunpowder, Weddings and Blackmail
by ADLOCKandMYTHEA
Summary: It's been two years since Sherlock's faked his death but now it's time to come back. He's got relationships to repair, some to build on and an awful lot of work to do with a new enemies in the mix. It's a lot to take in, one might burst but not Sherlock because he's got someone to keep him from breaking. To keep him strong. Her name is Irene Adler. (Sequel to Those Beating Hearts)
1. The Unexpected Detective

A/N - Pairings: -

Main : SherlockXIrene

Side Pairing: MaryXJohn AntheaXMycroft GregXMolly

Also, though some events of series 3 will be in this, it's mainly things happening during the breaks between episodes, etc and also, I'm going to be doing the last episode slightly different.

**Gunpowder, Weddings and Blackmail**

**Chapter One**

**The Unexpected Detective **

Mary smiled at John, knowing full what the man in front of her was trying to ask.

"So…if you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way to umm…your way…umm…"

She laughed, completely and utterly amused by John's nervousness and she loved that about him. "If you could see you way to…" he continued and he was so ready to getting it out and asking her right that minute when the French accent of the waiter interrupted him.

"Sir, I think you'll find this vintage, exceptionally to your liking."

Mary covered her face with her hands as she began to laugh.

"It has all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new." continued the waiter, who John still hadn't bothered to glance at. John looked at Mary. "No, sorry, not now, please."

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers."

Mary drew John a look and a made a face, to mock the waiter. John continued to try and shut the waiter up. "No. Look. Seriously…" He looked up to the waiter and his face fell. "could you just…" He continued for a bit and everything came crashing down on him at once. Standing there with a drawn on moustache and wearing a tuxedo was none other than the man he had grieved over for two years.

Sherlock Holmes reverted to his normal accent and spoke to the man sitting at the table, his best friend. "Interesting thing; a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters." he commented, quietly. John looked at Mary for a moment, who was looking at him wither concern. The doctor stood up and his breathing became intense as he tried to keep calm.

"John?" Mary uttered, worried as John looked at Sherlock with anger and pain. "John, what is it? What?"

John looked down at the table.

"Well, short version…" Sherlock began. John looked back up to him. "Not dead."

As John looked at Sherlock in anger, with the pain written over his face, the detective suddenly realised how affected John was and that it was not going to be a simple, celebration of his return.

"Bit mean springing it on you like that I know. Could have given you a heart attack. Probably still will. But in my defence it was very very funny."

John looked at him with an expression that said 'murder'.

"OK. It's not a great defence."

Mary looked up at Sherlock. "Oh no. You're…" she began.

Sherlock looked at her. "Oh yes."

"Oh my god." she uttered in shock.

"Not quite." he replied.

"You died. You jumped off a roof." she continued, worried about John.

"No." he uttered, in a dismissing tone.

"You're _dead_!"

"No. I'm quite sure. I checked. Excuse me."

He picked up a napkin and dipped it into a glass of water on the table before removing his drawn on moustaches and looking at John, and in reference to the natural grown moustache on his best friend he asked: "does yours come off too?"

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Do you have _any _idea what you've done to him?" Mary continued, appalled at the man before her.

Sherlock looked down at John, suddenly become less cocky. "Okay, John, I'm suddenly realising I probably owe you some sort of an apology."

John slammed a clenched first on the table. "All right, just…John? Just keep…" Mary began, ready to try and calm down her boyfriend.

"Two years." uttered John. He took a deep breath. "Two years."

Sherlock swallowed.

"I thought you were dead. Hmmn? Now you let me grieved. How could you do that?…How?"

As John visibly became more and more murderous looking Mary began to get worried. "Wait before you do anything that you might regret…um one question." Sherlock began before gesturing towards the top of his lip. "Are you really gonna keep that?"

At that moment, John launched himself at Sherlock, knocking him to the ground, his hands wrapped viscously around the detective's throat. Mary and several waiters ran over to try and pull him off of him.

* * *

When Mary and John got home, after John punched, and head butted Sherlock in the face (actions which caused them to be thrown out of two more restaurants), he looked at her in disbelief. "I'm going to ask you this again, Mary."

"OK." she uttered, looking at him.

"Can you believe his nerve?" John asked her.

"And I'm going to tell _you _again. I like him." Mary responded before kissing his cheek. "Let's go to bed and we'll think more about it in the morning."

When they got ready for bed John sat at the bottom and sighed. "Two years I spent grieving after that bastard and what does he do, waltzes in and interrupts my date with you. The most important date of them all. He's completely and utterly selfish."

"I like him." Mary repeated and John looked at her.

"Well I don't." John responded.

"OK." Mary replied with an amused smile. "But your best friend's back John and I know you're really mad but he's your best friend!"

"We'll talk about it more in the morning."

He lay down and switched the lamp off.

* * *

Mycroft winced as he set the buzzer off on the operation board. He was playing the game with Sherlock in the living room. "Bugger!" he uttered.

"Can't handle a broken heart. Very telling." Sherlock commented. "How are Hugo and Lucas?"

"You asked us that question yesterday."

"Well there moods and health can change every day. In fact not even the matter of a day but minutes." Mycroft sighed and nodded. "I'm just taking my duty as godfather seriously."

Mycroft glanced at him. "Have you found anything out about-"

"Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre." Sherlock interjected, glancing up to the door to the living room as Mrs Hudson made her way in with a tray of tea.

"Youhoo." she greeted them.

"Speaking of which." Mycroft commented.

Sherlock smirked, amused.

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it! Him – sitting in his chair again!" she gushed before looking over to Mycroft. "Oh isn't it wonderful, Mr Holmes?"

"I can barely contain myself." Mycroft replied sarcastically, although secretly he was glad his brother was back and on his radar to monitor and protect.

"Oh he really _can _you know." Sherlock responded, always resorting to the statements that made him out to be disliked by his brother. Mycroft did not know whether it was out of being difficult or out of actually feeling inferior and actually disliked but he never chose to question his brother on it. The two of them always had a difficult time expressing their concern for one another never mind their admiration and adoration.

She made her way to the door and as she did she said "he's secretly pleased to see you underneath all that…" She pulled a face.

"Sorry, which of us?" inquired Mycroft.

"Both of you."

When she was gone Sherlock to turned to his brother and stood up. "Let's play something different."

Mycroft rolled his eyes because his main priority was getting his brother to work on the case he needed him to work on.

* * *

Molly looked down at the floor in the morgue. She had just finished explain to Greg that she'd assisted Sherlock in faking his death. She swallowed. "So you helped Sherlock?"

"I'm so sorry."

She looked up and out of nowhere Greg's lips came crashing against hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck, before pulling away. "Molly Hooper. This is why I love you. You always help the people you care about!"

"You're not mad at me?"

"No. You did what you had to do. You saved Sherlock, who was saving me. You're a hero, Molly. You're my hero."

"Wait a minute when you walked in you said you wanted to ask me something and I was assuming you were curious about Sherlock since I told you I had done the autopsy…"

"Oh…umm…no. That wasn't what I wanted to umm…"

He got down on one knee and held her hands in his. "We've been through a lot. And I don't think we should go through a lot as boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. We should go through a lot…This is horrible. I'm going to start again."

"No keep going on." Molly told him.

"I think we should be husband and wife. I love you with all my heart."

"OK." Molly said, giggling before helping him up and hugging him.

"We can pick out a ring together."

"Yes." she replied, nodding.

"Come on let's go get something to eat." he told her before linking arms with her and walking out of the morgue.


	2. Remember, Remember

A/N I apologise for the stories being so case light. But as Benedict Cumberbatch said, Sherlock's not a detective show it's a show ABOUT 'A' detective. And I much prefer focusing on the feelings of the characters, especially Sherlock. Because Sherlock's more human than Mary, John, Mrs Hudson etc. He just chooses not to show it and I love writing fics where Irene Adler is someone that he shows his emotions to. After all, he's a woman he feels sentiment for. It's canon. She's in his mind palace. So in this one with her in his life, he will tell her about Redbeard, he will tell her about Russia. He will her tell her that she worried him etc. Because she's someone who doesn't mind him being human. She inspires him to show that he is. And that's what their relationship is about in my story. Because I feel in series 3, Sherlock's become a little more vulnerable to his emotions. He's accepting of that fact he has them but he doesn't know how to deal with it, and it almost makes him burst. Anyway, sorry...I'll let you read this really crappy chapter now.

**Gunpowder, Weddings and Blackmail**

**Chapter Two**

**Remember, Remember. **

After finishing work and running her errands, Mary made her way to Baker Street. If John wasn't going to see Sherlock then she was. It didn't take a genius to realise the reason why John was so angry was because he cared. She wanted him to come around. Because Sherlock was his best friend. Mary understood having to fake one's death. But she would never tell John that. That was a part of her that had to remain hidden. She had escaped from that sort of her life.

Her phone went off and without a second glance at the texts she could see John was in danger. She ran into Baker Street, only stopping at the stairs to explain to Mrs Hudson that she was John's fiancée. When she found Sherlock, he was standing at the top of the stairs, eating fish and chips.

She explained her findings to Sherlock, who immediately discarded his supper on the floor, taking Mary with him to find John.

* * *

John glanced at Mary when he had fully woke around from the sedative he'd been given. "Thank god you're okay." she said before hugging him. "I was worried about you."

He realised he was in the back of an ambulance.

She kissed him before he could speak and hugged him again. If she found out who had put her fiancée in a bonfire, she'd put them through hell.

Sherlock walked away from the bonfire site and took a cab back to Baker Street. When he got inside he looked around and sighed before taking his phone out of his pocket and texting someone he could always talk to, who always let him be human.

**Where are you? SH**

He sat down and sighed. Of all the people he'd seen, she was one of the ones he wanted to see most and she hadn't come to him, and he didn't know where she was. He just hoped, she'd not given up on him because he went off the radar for a couple of months.

He sat the phone on the armchair and put his hands into a prayer shape.

* * *

The next day, Mary came home from work early to check on John who was sitting on the sofa, reading the newspaper. She folded her arms and looked at him disapprovingly. John looked up and blinked. "Oh. Hello, Mary."

"Right. This is getting ridiculous now! You're just as childish as him!" she said, to John.

John blinked and took in air. "Are you kidding me, Mary?! He faked his death. He let me grieve! And now he's back, expecting it all to be okay!"

"But he's always been like that according to you! Why should it be different now? You cared about him then! He saved your life last night. The least you could do is go and hear him out. That man is your best friend and that's why you are behaving like this. The both of you are like a couple of children!"

John stood up and walked over to her. "You're right. I'm sorry." He leaned in and kissed her. "You don't mind me going, do you?"

She drew him a look.

"Just making sure." John replied, with a smile. "I'll see you later, right?"

"Until then, Dr Watson." Mary replied as he made his way to the door, his jacket and scarf now on.

"I love it when yo call me Dr Watson."

She chuckled and he walked out.

* * *

Sherlock listened to his parents talking, trying not to sleep. "Which wasn't the way I'd put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?' He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you dear?" She looked over to Sherlock's father.

" 'Fraid so."

Sherlock went to speak, to ask them if any of them had heard from Irene but his mother continued talking and he couldn't.

"Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses."

"Glasses." his father said, just at the same time as Sherlock's mother had said "glasses" too.

Sherlock sighed a little.

* * *

Irene sat in her music room, dropping her pen and standing up to stretch. She had no idea how much time had gone by, since she'd went inside. Things like that always slipped her mind. She was obvious that Sherlock was worried about her, and completely unaware that she'd left her phone in her bedroom. She was aware that she need coffee, or some energy drink to keep her awake. She gathered up her written pieces and songs and stacked them neatly on the piano before looking in the mirror and realising how messy her hair had become.

She'd moved back to her old place in Belgravia. Baker Street wasn't her favourite place with Sherlock not there. Despite knowing he'd been alive, she still missed him and she rarely ever got to email him or talk to him. Since she'd lost touch with him for too long, she began to fear the worst. So she locked herself away in her music room to forget.

She walked over to the mini fridge she had in the music room and took out a can of Rockstar. It was an energy drink recommended to her by someone on twitter. A fan. It was moments like that, that she praised social networking sites.

Although she remembered when she first joined twitter and the lecture she got about her father about making herself a target on the world wide web.

She smiled as she thought about it and sighed before sitting on the floor and sipping at her drink.

* * *

John watched Sherlock's parents get into a taxi from the window in Baker Street.

"Well. That's not what I expected." he admitted.

"Hmm?" Sherlock questioned.

"There just so…"

So what?"

"Ordinary." John replied.

"It's a cross I have to bear." Sherlock admitted.

John chuckled and began to move closer to the door to get a good look of the living room. He turned to look at Sherlock. "Did they know too?"

"Hmmn?

"That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek."

Sherlock walked over to his laptop to stall for a moment before answering. "Maybe." He still hadn't told him Irene knew and it would be the one thing he wouldn't tell John. Irene was the one who kept an eye on John, who spent time with his parents, hung out with Anthea and was baby sitter to Lucas and Hugo from time to time. She just made sure that his friends and family were okay. He would never tell John that Irene knew. He would not risk anyone thinking any less of the woman he only saw greatness in.

"Ah! So that's why they weren't at the funeral!" John replied. "So you told your parents but not me. Or maybe you should have told Irene because she's been really weird since you were gone."

"Actually she's always like that but…have you heard from her?"

"Not for the last week no! It was her that encouraged me to propose to Mary."

"Was she okay? Did she sound…different?"

"She was working on a new album and she was going to get manuscript…"

"Oh thank god." Sherlock uttered before grinning. "She's just locked herself out from the world. I've been worried sick about her!"

John smiled. "I can't wait to see her slap your face."

"She's not going to slap my face. She's nice that way." Sherlock responded.

"I think she'll slap your face."

"Yes. I think she will." John replied. "You've been gone two years. She's move on and you're coming back and stirring up all sorts of emotions. Mary and I were getting ready to set her up with someone. Haven't gotten around to it."

Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"I'm joking about the last bit. But you told everyone but me, Sherlock!" John replies.

"Sorry again!" Sherlock replied. "Sorry."

"Irene's staying in Belgravia again. You should go and see her. Get her out of that house."

"I need to find out what's happening with this underground network first. There's a terrorist attack imminent and if she's working I don't want to disturb her. Never rush a genius' work."

He looked at John. "I really am sorry by the way."

* * *

Anthea was making her way out of the office to go home, and relieve the baby sitter of their duties when her phone went off.

**Dolphin, tell Mycroft. It's not an underground network it's an 'underground' network. Can't get a hold of him, must be in a meeting. Lord Moran's left a bomb on the sumatra railway line. Remember, remember the fifth of November. **

As Anthea made her way to the car she dialled the special branch police force. "Hello. I am speaking on behalf of Mycroft Holmes. Security clearance number zero zero seven four eight three eight nine four two two. There's a terrorist attack imminent on parliament. I need police skilled in defusing explosives, down on the sumatra railway line and I need someone to find Lord Moran."

"I'll get back to you on that ma'am."

"Well do it quick." she replies, firmly. "Unless you want to explain why nothing was done to save the lives of those politicians in parliament. Remember, remember the fifth of November."

She ended the call and sighed as she became nostalgic about the days when she'd be one of the ones fighting to go down that railway line, fighting to be the one that arrested Moran.

"Where to ma'am?" the driver asked her.

"Home please." she replied.

* * *

"I'm going to kill you!" John said when he noticed the police coming towards the car that Moran had left the bomb in. Sherlock had tricked John into forgiving him and now John was pissed because he thought that they were both going to die.

"Oh. Please." Sherlock replied. "Killing me. That was so two years ago."

They were escorted from the railway line and outside, where Mary was waiting for him. "Anthea called. She told me what happened. I'm so glad you're okay." Mary said, hugging John. "You too Sherlock! I was worried about the both of you."

"He's fine. As always!" John replied, before laughing. "An absolute prick. That's what he is!"

Mary chuckled.


	3. The Marks We Leave

**Gunpowder, Weapons and Blackmail**

**Chapter Three**

**The Marks We Leave**

John and Mary stumbled into Baker Street's living room to find Sherlock staring at two crying boys of sixteen months. "Let me guess, Anthea got you babysitting?" John asked, with raised eyebrows.

"She normally gets Mary or Irene to do it but Irene isn't answering calls and you two are busy probably having sex." Sherlock responded, before glancing at them. "Yes, definitely having sex."

"Sherlock. There are two children in the room." Mary scolded him before picking one of them up. Hugo. "Hey. It's Aunt Mary. Hey. Don't cry, baby." She looked at Sherlock. "Usually once you settle one, the other settles down."

"That one's Hugo by the way." Sherlock said before sitting down. "This is my penance for being dead. Are you happy now, John?"

"Well you're clearly busy." John said when the boys stopped crying. "So you won't be on any cases."

"If there's a case, I'm escaping."

"What about Hugo and Lucas?" Mary asked.

"I'll leave them here. If they cry enough, Mrs Hudson will come up and take care of them." He opened up his newspaper and began to read it.

"Well I hope you never have children." John commented. "You'd make a terrible father!"

"No. My title of father has god in front of it. These infants, are my godchildren. Anthea made Adler godmother."

"Adler?" inquired Mary as John sat down in his armchair. Mary sat in on the sofa as Sherlock threw the newspaper across the room, like a Frisbee. "Boring! I need a murder."

"Mada." Lucas uttered suddenly.

"He's trying to say, murder." Sherlock explained. "It's one word he's not gotten a grip of. Do you know Hugo, though calls Mycroft Myky instead of father. It's quite funny."

"This is a horror movie." John commented.

* * *

Irene put her finished music scripts and lyrics into a hidden container in her piano stole before locking it and stepped out of the room. She was about to go into her own room when she heard the alarm go off.

_Three Months Ago_

_Irene opened the door to the simple flat she'd been living in and glanced at her father. "May I come in?" _

_"Of course, dad. Of course." _

_She made tea and sat with him on the sofa._

He handed her a file. "I need you to keep the information on this safe for me. There's a mole in the CIA and until I've discovered him or her, I can't trust anyone else. You're the one I trust. And you have an eidetic memory. If you need to, destroy this original. Just keep the details somewhere. Even if it's just in here." He tapped her head. 

_He'd left as quickly as he turned up and she took a photo with her phone, before burning it. If there was no traces of the document, then it wouldn't be led back to her, would it? _

She began to make her way to the living room when, she heard a gun click against her head. "Hello, Miss Adler."

* * *

"Admiral Frederick Ford. He was just taken to hospital in DC." Anthea informed Mycroft as she brought him some tea.

He didn't look up.

"Mycroft."

"What is it?" he asked, curtly before looking up. "I'm a little busy at the moment. Perhaps whatever it is, could wait until later."

"I said that Admiral Frederick Ford. He's in hospital in Washington DC."

"And this is relevant to what we're doing now, how? I'm sorry, Anthea but I've not got time for personal chit chat."

Mycroft went to the sugar jar to put sugar in his tea but she grabbed it away. "I forgot, sir. You instructed me that you were on a diet."

Anthea walked to the door and turned back. "Actually Mr Holmes, I assumed that you'd be interested considering Admiral Ford is Irene Adler's father. And I assumed since she was your brother's muse that you would be very interested in knowing. What affects her, affects him. Perhaps I'll just investigate into this myself."

She stormed out of the office and Mycroft sighed.

* * *

Anthea made her way up to the door at Irene's Belgravia house. It was broken open. Obviously someone in a hurry. She stepped into the hallway and stepped up the stairs. "Irene!" she called. "Irene!"

She stepped into the living room and found Irene, bloody and bruised, crying on the floor. A man with a gun standing over her. Irene removed a gun, she had strapped underneath her skirt and pointed it at him. "Step away from her. Now."

"My dad is he alright?" Irene asked.

"He's in hospital but he's fine." Anthea replied, aiming with a cold expression at the intruder into Irene's house.

"And who the hell are you?" the intruder asked.

"Her best friend." Anthea replied. "And I'm giving you one last chance to step away from her. Or I'll make sure you die a painful death."

"I'm sorry. No." responded the intruder, turning his gun on Anthea. At that point Irene ducked and Anthea fired, hitting him in the shoulder before walking over to him and digging her her heel into the wound. "Now for your painful death."

Anthea removed her phone from her pocket. And Irene swallowed. Who was she calling. "Hey, Sherlock! It's me, Anthea."

Irene blinked. Sherlock?

"Oh they're fully of energy are they? I just thought you'd want to know, someone's hurt Irene. Do you want to come over and see the guy who did it?"

Irene tried to get her hands out of the ropes which tied her.

"I thought you might. If Mary and John are with Hugo and Lucas, just leave them with them. Put them on I want to talk to them…Sherlock?" Anthea blinked.

Anthea knocked the intruder out with her gun before turning to Irene and helping her. "Why do you never fight back? You've been trained by your father."

"I don't know. I just feel really guilty." Irene replied and Anthea started laughing. "It's not funny!"

"You feel really guilty." Anthea repeated.

"Besides, I just got my hand repaired."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked, Irene as he dabbed at one of her wounds with an alcoholic wipe. She just nodded.

"I know I was off the grid for two months and I'm very sorry about that but it was completely impossible for me to contact you. At that point I needed you safe and I was being watched. It was not long before I was taken and tortured. The last thing I needed was them going after you. I don't like seeing you hurt."

Irene nodded again.

"You finished your album then?"

She shrugged.

"Talk to me." Sherlock uttered.

"Do you ever feel as though there's something wrong with us, Sherlock? For so long we've been with the danger, the excitement, the action and the strange that we take it as normal. You fake your death. Oh well, that's just one of those things. My dad comes to my door one night, all the way from DC and he hands me a piece of paper with details that I had to memorise. I burned the original. This happens and it's normal. I've been kidnapped about twenty times in my life. This wasn't the worst thing that happened to me. Do you ever just feel like you're screwed up Sherlock? Because when I'm not around you, I do. Then I am with you and it's okay. It doesn't matter."

"He's going to think twice before hurting you again." Sherlock told her before kissing her cheek. She winced and he pulled away. "I'm not a doctor but I think that'll be okay now."

"You must think I'm a coward."

"Why do you say that?" Sherlock inquired.

"Because I had every opportunity before he tied my hands to do something about him and I didn't."

"You're not a coward. You're just kind."

He made her stand up and took her into the room before making her lie down. "Sleep and in the morning, wash your hair! It looks like…you've stuck your hand on a Van De Graff generator."

"I was busy." she pouted.

Sherlock sighed and went to go. "Don't leave me." she uttered.

He turned around. "I'll be in the living room. Packing. You're moving out in less than a week. That's when you lease is up. It's amazing what things slip your mind when you've locked yourself away. Also…"

He took his hand out of his pocket and flipped her camera phone. "I'll be keeping this, since it's obviously where you stored your information before you burned the original. It's so easy for you. Pity you couldn't take little notes in your music and store it here. Save you writing all the time while I'm trying to have a conversation with you."

"Sherlock. I don't need to write anything. I do it because I am habitual. And I can work along the way."

"You've got a passcode on this now. How sweet." Sherlock noted. "Of course I'll be able to guess it."

Irene stood up and took it out of his hand. "You won't." she whispered, in her american accent prominent in her voice. Or perhaps it just sounded like that to Sherlock because he'd not heard her speak much in about a year and a half. "Because this isn't a game, Sherlock. Not this one. This is someone who tried to kill my father."

"And this is me going to get justice for _The _Woman. So tell me what was on that sheet of paper, he handed you. That document."

"Sherlock. I'm tired. Let me sleep." Irene said, suddenly. When Sherlock was gone, she took a shower and washed her hair before brushing it out when she left, and blow drying it. She picked out a comfortable sweater vest and picked up a pair of heels before moving to the window and opening it. She was used to climbing out of windows. It was a skill most teenagers had in her school when they'd be grounded.

Except this time she was going to her father, not escaping him.


	4. Our Reckless Actions

**Gunpowder, Weapons and Blackmail**

**Chapter Four**

**Our Reckless Actions**

Anthea stepped into Mycroft's office, putting a file on his desk before turning around, ready to leave until his voice spoke to her. "Anthea. We need to have a chat."

Anthea turned around and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Storming into a dangerous situation like that! What the bloody hell were you thinking?!" continued Mycroft, in a raised tone.

"Umm…Something along the lines of sentiment maybe but you kind of hate that!"

"Sentiment, Anthea?! Don't talk to me about sentiment! Not when you could have died! Didn't you think about your children?! Didn't you think about me?! Or my parent's who love you as if you were their own daughter!"

"Irene was in danger!" Anthea replied.

"I don't give a damn about Irene Adler! Not when it's a choice between your life or hers!"

"You know why you're really pissed off with me, Mycroft!? It's because you never said that I could do it! And you're Mr Power complex! Don't you dare talk to me about our children when you yourself, barely come home to see them! That's why you're just Myky!"

She slammed the door shut on the way out and Mycroft sighed, heavily.

* * *

Do you ever just get sick of Mycroft sometimes?" Anthea asked Sherlock in the living room at Irene's house as she helped Sherlock put things in boxes."

"I'm his brother." Sherlock commented and Anthea smiled. "What has he done to upset you?"

"He's just…since the boys were born…things have been just deteriorating between us you know. And he is snapping at me. He's ignoring me. He's shouting at me."

"He's probably just worried. The more emotional Mycroft gets, the more he works to distance himself."

"I know but…it's just…not from me. Never from me." Anthea replied, wiping tears from her eyes. "I just always thought that I was never going to the PA that got the domesticated anger caused by the wife took out on her."

"You are the wife that's the causing the domesticated anger." Sherlock stated obviously. "He'll come around. Don't worry. Someone will start a war. That always cheers him up."

"Is Irene still sleeping?" Anthea asked, Sherlock.

"Yeah. She's been out for four hours now." Sherlock responded, before glancing up at the ceiling. "What do you think she'll wear?"

"When she wakes up?" Anthea asked, confused.

"To the wedding. I want to buy her a dress. I mean…That's what boyfriends do isn't it? Buy their girlfriend's clothes."

"Irene is more likely to buy you clothes, Sherlock." responded, Anthea. "Are you wanting to buy her a present."

Sherlock sighed. "No. Of course not."

"Sherlock everyone knows you are infatuated by her. You can talk to me about it. What's up?"

"Before we lost contact, she asked me what we were. I thought it was obvious but then I couldn't reply to her and I still haven't answered her and I want her to know that she's my girlfriend without telling her that she's my girlfriend because then I am begin sentimental."

"You just told me she was your girlfriend."

"That's different you already know."  
"You're nervous aren't you?" Anthea asked. "This is adorable."

"Hello. Brought them around." John's voice said as him and Mary carried Hugo and Lucas into the living room. Luckily Sherlock had tied up the mess caused by the intrusion.

"Oh there's my princes." Anthea said, before taking Hugo in her arms and sitting him on the sofa, before doing the same with Lucas. "Thanks for taking care of them, John."

"No worries." John replied before looking over to Sherlock. "Is she okay? Are you okay? Where's the guy that attacked her?"

"Being questioned as we speak." Anthea replied before Sherlock could. "Shall we order some takeaway? I'm starving!"

"I better go ask Irene if she wants something. Probably hasn't eaten in days."

"Two of you were meant for another." John commented as Sherlock made his way upstairs. He walked into her room and noticed right away she'd climbed out of the window. He frowned, and swallowed before making his way downstairs.

"It would appear Irene has…disappeared out of her window." Sherlock commented. "And I think I can hazard an educated guess as to where she's going."

"Her father in hospital." Anthea responded.

"Exactly."

* * *

Molly stepped into her house to find that the television was on in the living room. She walked in and found Greg watching football highlights on the TV. "Sorry I'm late." she apologised, clearly tired.

"Hello." Greg said before getting up and hugging her. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Except for like every bone in my body is either aching or collapsing from exhaustion."

"Is that blood on your collar?"

"It is."

"Is that from a cadaver or have you killed someone?"

"Both?" Molly replied, with a chuckle and he kissed her forehead.

"I think some wine would make you feel better."

"It's like eleven o'clock at night." Molly replied, with a sigh. "I just want my bed…You bought wine didn't you? We were going to have chinese and wine. That was the plan and I forgot, didn't I? Greg I'm…" Greg laughed. "It's alright. We'll have it tomorrow."

"I'm so so sorry! I was just…I forgot."

"I know. I know."

He hugged her. "You can make it up to me."

"I will. I promise. I'll bring you coffee and donuts for lunch for a week."

"Do I get to talk to you too for a whole lunchtime?"

Molly nodded.

"You're forgiven. Come on then. Sleep."

* * *

Mycroft stepped into the library in his home, where Anthea was sitting at her laptop, typing away. "The boys are sleeping. You missed them."

"I'll see them tomorrow, I expect." Mycroft replied, quietly. "I'm sorry that I shouted at you. Please forgive me, Anthea."

"Why are you even apologising?" snapped Anthea. "I mean…it's not as if it's important to you."

"Of course it is. I hurt you and I'm sorry. You were the last person I wanted to upset. I love you." Mycroft responded and Anthea looked up. "Which is why I was so angry in the first place."

"Go to bed and get some sleep, Myky. I have to finish this organiser for you and I have emails to send and documents to type."

"Don't stay up too late." Mycroft replied, before walking over and kissing her cheek. "Or else I'll be forced to order you to take the day off and since I enjoy your company at work, it would be devastating." She smiled small as Mycroft left.

* * *

Admiral Ford looked up as the door to his office in the Pentagon opened, and his daughter stepped in, her arms folded as she entered the room. A marine outside closed the door and she glanced at him, the exhaustion in her eyes masking the irritation.

"Irene. You've decided to leave that city of yours, that you've fallen so in love with or is it perhaps they threw you out of the country."

Irene sat down and he got a better look of her in the light. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Wearing make up to the Pentagon, Irene."

"I'd have wiped it off but then again my bruises don't look good and I'm just really exhausted. Especially from that American boy who happened to stroll into my house and umm…well that's in the past now. I came over though to see if you're okay but clearly you are. I was under the impression you were in hospital."

"I've too much work to do, Irene. I don't have time to be in the hospital."

Irene stood up and walked over to one of his bookshelves.

"Did you apprehend him, okay?"

Irene blinked and kept on staring at the bookcase, wincing as she awaited the criticism.

"God. Why did I bother ever teaching you how take care of yourself when you don't even try?" Ford replied. "You're going to get yourself killed one day."

Irene turned around and smiled. "Well father, at least I would not have to put up with your constant need to put me down so that you can feel superior to me. So you feel like I've not succeeded in anything that I've done. You get worse and worse everyday! You come to my flat in the middle of the night and ask me to look after information for you and I did it. I've done everything you've asked me to, as much as I could throughout my whole life and it's never good enough for you is it?"

"We can't always get what we want, can we?"

"You can't always decide on what you want, can you?" Irene responded, with a small smile. "I'd have become a marine if I thought you'd just cut me some slack but the again you'd find a reason for me not to!"

"You're too ill disciplined to be one."

"You see what I mean. It doesn't matter what I do, what I suggest, there's always a fault in it for you to glance over. But anyway, I didn't come here to argue with you. I was really worried."

"Well as you can see I'm fine."

"So do you want to tell me what the hell is going on, now?"

"I don't expect you to understand, Irene."

"So politics is what's going on?"

"It's out of my hands, Irene. An hour before you arrived the British took over matters. We felt that we owed them. You came all the way out here for nothing."

He pulled a gun and a document out of his drawer before pushing it to the other side of the desk. "Take this. The permit will let you take it on the plane."

Irene picked up the gun and put it in the bin before tearing up the permit. "I don't do guns. Because I don't like killing people. Not to mention if I really wanted to kill someone, I'd poison them. It's far more elegant. And it doesn't affect my wrists. And I need my wrists for my career."

"If you can call being a pop icon a career."

Irene shook her head. "Well at least I don't cater to the whims of the politicians. I actually make people smile through honesty and not circumlocution."

She began to walk to the door and grabbed the handle. "And I'm not leaving right away because Sherlock's probably already on a flight here."

Ford rolled his eyes.

"What?!" Irene inquired. "What?!"

"Nothing. I wouldn't say anything about your wannabe detective friend with benefits."

Irene blinked and walked forward. "He's not a wannabe detective. He is a detective."

"He's a pompous ass hole with no regard for…"

"Stop!" Irene exclaimed. "Don't you dare sit there and call Sherlock a pompous arse hole when you're the one that's behaving like an arse hole!"

"Oh the terms of the British. I raised you to be an American."

"Most people raise their children to be happy! Why don't you just disown me?! God!"

Irene walked out, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

When Sherlock got out of the airport in DC, Irene was waiting, sitting on a bench. She waved, and he sat beside her, putting his coat around her. "I am sorry. I thought that if I could go and…find out what's going on that you and me could sort it out but I…"

"What's going on?"

"I don't know." Irene replied, quietly. "He won't tell me. He said the Brits are taking over….what the hell is going on."

"Let's go and rest in a hotel. You need to sleep. Look at you." Sherlock stated.

"I am fine. Do you need to sleep?"

"I've not really slept that well since I fell from Saint Barts roof." Sherlock admitted. "But then again you already know that."

"I was really…distant when you came back and I'm sorry, Sherlock. I am just tired, I'm angry and it's not at you…I'm not angry at you…well I am but that's just because you're an idiot sometimes."

"Sorry?" Sherlock inquired.

She smiled. "You are an idiot. I mean…you were back a week and you never came to see me."

"I figured that you were working and a genius needed her mind to herself."

"I would have taken a break to see you again, though. Don't you realise how important you are to me? To everyone else?"

"Look. Tell me what's on the camera phone."

"I burned the original copy. I memorised what I had read in my head. I don't have mind palace Sherlock but I have an eidetic memory. You wouldn't think probably because I write everything down but that's just in case I got into a coma. Because…it's possible. I swear if I'm driven to drugs it would my father's fault."

"How's your wrist?" Sherlock asked, lifting her hand.

"You ask me that all the time."

"It's fragile. I have to." he replied and she laughed. "I didn't mean that as a joke."

"I know you didn't but…Let's go get coffee. Come on."

Sherlock yawned as Irene pulled him up. "Are you sleepy, Mr Holmes?"

"No. You're just boring."

"Fair enough." Irene replied as the linked arms and walked into the airport.


	5. A Kinship To Murder

**Gunpowder, Weapons and Blackmail**

**Chapter Five**

**A Kinship to Murder**

Irene sat in the coffee shop, in the airport with Sherlock.

"So what was on the document that you memorised?" Sherlock asked her, as she took a sip of the caffeinated substance. She looked around.

"Most of it was censored out but it's obviously been a top secret, covert or black op…Something along those lines. Especially if my father is involved in it. He suspected a mole. And I think I know why. Barbra Devlin. One of the names in the document. That was uncensored believe it or not. My dad filled the name in. Well she turned up dead two days before my father came to see me." Irene pulled out a newspaper out of her bag. "I had time to kill while I waited on you coming."

"You knew I was coming?" Sherlock replied.

"Oh I disappear while there's action and adventure going on. It was obvious." Irene replied and Sherlock smiled at her.

"So he thought there was a mole because she ended up dead?" Sherlock asked Irene. "There's nothing in the article to indicate that."

"Well there wouldn't be. Because it's top secret but she had a different name before she went into the programme. They were all given new identities. They were becoming new people. That's what Barbra Devlin's mother said. Sally Johnstone. Her daughter Mia Johnstone, is Barbra. Now Barbra slash Mia used to work in Iraq. You'll laugh at this. Army Doctor. But that's all I found out until I called Anthea."

"What did Anthea say?"

"Well Anthea informed me that they were all army doctors before they went into this programme. Project Frankenstein."

"Project Frankenstein?" Sherlock inquired.

"That was all she told me. She heard Mycroft coming in. But Barbra's true identity was exposed. Everything connecting her to who she was, was placed at the crime scene. And of course that pattern continued with the other names. Until it probably wasn't a mole but someone else. There's only one left, now either he's going to get killed. Or…"

"Or he's the killer. What's his name?"

Two people in black suits suddenly approached the table. "Mr Holmes. Miss Adler. If you'd like to come with us."

"Are they friends of yours?" Irene asked Sherlock.

"No. Are they friends of yours?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm afraid not, dear."

"Miss Adler won't be joining you." Sherlock said.

"Neither will Mr Holmes." Irene said and Sherlock smiled widely.

* * *

Irene and Sherlock both had their arms folded on the private jet, as the latter looked out of the plane window. They were on a private jet.

"We were having coffee." Irene stated.

"I know." Sherlock sighed. "And talking about a case."

"At least we're going home."

"Yes."

* * *

"Take a look at your serial killer Sherlock." Anthea said to Sherlock in Mycroft's house. She'd set up a projector in the library. "Ray Jones. His mother died, and was raised by his father from quite a young age. They didn't get along and then Ray became an army doctor. Joined the Frankenstein operation, where they trained army doctors into trained assassins. But then they all got screwed over by their boss, and were almost killed, due to them being collateral damage. They all survived, and were willing to get on with their lives. Everyone except Ray Jones. He killed the boss and then went after his colleagues who treated him not so nicely."

"Rigorous training. Drove him insane?" Sherlock asked.

"That's a theory. He was bipolar. Undiagnosed. And the worst is. He killed his father" Anthea replied. "Irene you're awfully quiet."

"And now that he's finished. What now? What does he do now?" Irene inquired.

"We don't know. We can't even find him." Anthea replied.

"So why did you take on the case?" Irene asked. "As in your government."

"He kills with scalpel, cutting across the neck. He ties a rope around the neck and hangs them." Anthea said.

"We know that." Sherlock replied.

"We are keeping this quiet. Even from Mycroft." Anthea said.

"You're going to tell us something Mycroft doesn't know?" Sherlock asked in shock.

"I only tell Mycroft what he needs to hear most of the time. You think he's the british government. It's actually me." she replied with a smug, smile.

She handed Irene a file and she opened it, dropping the pictures on the floor. Sherlock picked them up and looked at them. "Norton."

"Exactly." Anthea replied. "Why is he targeting Norton? To get to Irene? To get to her father?"

"No. He's looked at the writing on the floor in Norton's blood. Cheater. Liar. User. Disrespectful. He's bringing into the opening all of Norton's worst qualities. Maybe he feels a kinship to you Irene?"

Irene blinked and looked away.

"I mean your mother died when you were very little, and your father raised you. You and your father aren't exactly tighter than blood, are you? Then you left to do your own thing. Norton didn't exactly treat you nicely did he?"

"If Ray Jones was to kill every person who didn't treat me nicely. Then he'd have a long, long list."

Anthea's phone rang and she answered it. "Hello…Email me the details."

She ended the call and looked at Irene.

"A man named Pierre Dunn just turned up dead in his hotel room here in London. Same M.O. Irene. Do you remember Pierre Dunn?"

Irene sighed.

"Who is Pierre Dunn?" Sherlock asked.

"He kidnapped me to use me for leverage." Irene said. "It happened."

"And you were scared. You were starved for thee days, barely any water. You were mistreated."

"How does he know all this stuff?"

"Because he just does." Anthea replied.

"Wait a minute if Mycroft doesn't know what's going on that means you sent those idiots after us!" Sherlock said.

"Of course I did." Anthea replied.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "So he's not going to hurt her then?"

"I don't think so."

Irene hugged herself with her arms. "He's ill isn't he?"

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that he has to be stopped." Anthea replied, sternly. "Now the both of you are going to be escorted to Baker Street. Where you will remain. Irene, everything you have in your house is in storage, except your secret musical manuscripts which Sherlock insisted on taking and hiding. Take that one up with him. Now will the two of you just go to the cinema for a date instead of going after serial killers?"

"I tried that. He's very picky." Irene commented.

* * *

"I don't know why I'm here." Irene's father said in the living room of Baker Street. Sherlock had escaped to his mind palace, which only made Admiral Ford more irritated.

"You're here because Ray is likely to kill you and I don't want that happening. As much as you can't stand the fact that I am who I am, I love you dad."

She began to make a sketch of Sherlock from her seat.

"Why can't you just take care of yourself?" Admiral Ford asked. "Saves me having to worry about you. But no you go down the road of being nice and…You're too much like you mother sometimes."

"Oh well she must have done something right, you married her."

"Irene."

"I just…You do this all the time. Every time! Every time! Ever time your job gets me landed in trouble, you push the blame to me. I don't care though about that. I just wish you wouldn't blame me. I spent mass amounts of my childhood thinking I was in the wrong."

Sherlock snapped out of his mind palace and looked at Irene. "You need shampoo." he says. "I forgot to get it."

"Sherlock I…"

Sherlock was out before she could continue.

"Is he that way inclined too?" Ford asked. "He lived with a man for months…"

"Oh for god sake! He's not gay! John isn't gay! None of them are gay! Sherlock just likes the smell of the shampoo on my hair. Sherlock is just Sherlock. And I love him for it. I mean most people love people in spite of their faults. I love Sherlock because of them."

"Oh now you're in love with him. God." Ford rolled his eyes.

"He's kind. He's clever. We have an non verbal understanding sometimes and we're just complimentary to one another. He's magical. I am not joking, everything he does is just enchanting. You should see him work. I'm in love with him emotionally and with his mind. Everything about him makes him the beautiful being that he is. He's not dull. So yeah. It's very sentimental between us. You ask me all the time what I see in Sherlock. I see everything."

"Well Ray wouldn't have to be shot, if he came close by to hurt me. He'd only have to listen to this conversation and he'd die of Diabetes."

Irene smirked and laughed. "I know. Not one of my…more stable moments."

Her phone went off and she glanced at. There was a photo of Sherlock, leaving Baker Street.

The caption: **I want to help you. Let me help you. Bring me your father. Don't worry about Sherlock Holmes. I'll take care of him too. **

* * *

"You're making a big mistake." Sherlock said to Ray in, empty offices at the top of the London Shard. "My brother will find me. Or worse his wife will find me. I wouldn't mess with her. Irene won't want me dead."

"She's nice. And kind. She doesn't want anyone dead. So I decided to help her. Why don't you make her your girlfriend? She's very nice."

Sherlock sighed. He'd mistreated Irene in that regard. Sherlock stared at the scalpel in Ray's hand.

The door to the office opened and Irene stepped in. "Hey, Ray." she said softly. "You know who I am. I know who you are. But sometimes unless you're the person you're researching some information can be at fault. Sherlock hasn't hurt me. He's protecting me. And I am fond of him. If you hurt him, you'll be hurting me."

"Have you called the police?"

"Yes. Because I want to help you. What happened to you was horrible. They didn't ask you to join that programme, they just chose you. Like something on a shelf and that was horrible. They put you through pain and hardship and I wish that didn't have to happen. I know what it's like to keep having life throw you terrible crap. It's just got better, because of him. I lost my mum, and I didn't get a chance to know her. My dad was always pushing me down."

"But you broke free. He made me become an army doctor. You did what you wanted."

"I realised that no matter what I did, it wouldn't be good enough. I decided to be happy."

"You were stronger." Ray replied.

"I had just had enough. I broke. But you kept trying because you cared about him. You cared about him to go to Iraq. And if he hadn't sent you there, none of that would have happened to you. It's his fault. But we know what happened now. And it will be made public and we will help you. Just…give me the scalpel."

"You had surgery on your wrist." he says. "Can I see your hand?"

Irene holds it out and he examines it. "Experimental surgery."

Irene nodded. "It was." she replied.

There was a noise suddenly as the door to the office crashed open and Anthea stepped in, holding a gun. "Irene get out of the way."

Ray grabbed Irene and put her in front of him. "Listen to me, Ray. If you just surrender. No one will hurt you. Right, Anthea?"

Anthea didn't reply.

"Please, Ray. I don't want you to get hurt, more than you already have."

"Let her go. Or I will shoot." Anthea said.

"Anthea don't." Sherlock said. "You'll hurt Irene."

Irene's hand slipped into her coat pocket, pulling out a syringe. She grabbed it and punched it into Ray's arm. "It's just a sedative. Relax." she said softly.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, Irene sat in the audience of Ray's exception by lethal injection in DC. She could not believe the British government handed him over like that. He needed help. Not murdered. When it was over she wiped a tear from her face before walking out to find Sherlock waiting outside.

"You're crying over a serial killer." Sherlock stated.

"Yeah." she replied. "Because there's no black and white to the justice system. And yeah. I'm a freak who feels sorry for serial killers."

"It's what I love about you." he replied.

She blinked.

"You're emphatic and understanding of almost everything while remaining clear of the facts. You are clearly compassionate and kind and sentimental and yet you don't let it control your actions. You inspire me everyday. It's why you're my girlfriend."

"That could have been me in there." Irene said, suddenly.

"But it isn't. Give it another couple of months though, and you might have strangled me for being infuriating."

"Come on. Let's go book a hotel room and sleep. Because none of us have done that have we?"

He took her hand and led her away.


End file.
